


His Butler, The Final Solution

by Roturier



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Chaos Ensues, Complete with undies and booze bottles in the driveway, F/M, Hang on to your hats, M/M, Multi, Sebastian takes you on a backstage tour of Kuroshitsuji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6847735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roturier/pseuds/Roturier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian tackles 'the Midford disaster'. Chaos, a drunken master, ill-conceived explosives experiments, naked servants in the driveway, orgies, Lau's girls and funny-smelling 'incense' in the smoking room not to mention uninvited ungulates on the tablecloth. Can the four Kittehs of the Apocalypse (War, Famine, Anestofleas and Bafftime) be far behind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Yes, it is me, Sebastian Michaelis, the Phantomhive butler. 

Please forgive my ridiculous appearance. It isn't as though I chose to wear this asinine bonnet. If you are familiar with the household, you will no doubt recognise the signs: Miss Elizabeth is with us once again, and the mansion is in a frilly pink shambles in the wake of the visitation of the infamous 'oh-isn't all-the-world-just-too-cute' Midford disaster.

As things are, mere weeks stand between us and this shambolic condition becoming our daily reality. My young lord's morbid sense of humour made him suggest, in a family meeting, his nuptials be celebrated on All Hallow's Eve. That was shot down by the Marchioness, but the fall date was retained because the young mistress thought a harvest themed wedding would be (wait for it:) 'cute' and her parents wanted the wedding sooner rather than later.

So, the Midford, like some dreadful, girly parasite, continues to embed itself deeper and deeper into the flesh of our formerly carefree, bachelor lives. Though this latest manifestation seems to have been the final straw for nearly everyone.

I have just come from the kitchen where I actually had to touch both Mae Rin and our joke of a gardener, in order to 1.) get their hysterics under control, 2.) get them to focus on my words, and 3.) assure them I do realise Steps Must Be Taken, and since no one else here appears to have the testicular fortitude to intervene-

No, that's not entirely true. I must give Bard credit: he at least _attempted_ to take action.

Last night he crept rather clumsily into a guest bedroom and placed enough dynamite under the bed to bring down the entire west wing. He was just running the fuse out the window and into the back garden—with a cigarette in his mouth!—when I was forced, against my better judgement, to stop him. So. It would appear Americans are not _entirely_ without a certain charm or usefulness. It was the wrong guest  bedroom, but with that much dynamite it was, as they say, the thought that counts.

But I digress. Since no one else will act, for the sake of the long-term sanity of everyone living on this estate –not least my own!- I must take the initiative and Do What Must be Done 

...whatever that is. A plan has yet to suggest itself.

Having left Mae-Rin blubbing, with her head on the kitchen table and a half empty bottle of sherry at her elbow, I realise it is down to me to clear the dining room. The other two refuse to show their faces upstairs lest they get the 'cute' treatment again. Tanaka, from what I can tell under that blond wig, is in a sake-induced coma. I couldn't coax even a single 'ho' from him, let alone any assistance.

Luckily we recently installed a dumb waiter which communicates with the butler's pantry, so such a task as single-handedly clearing up after a late supper with numerous guests is a good deal less labour intensive than formerly and well within the powers of even an ordinary, non-demonic, non-Phantomhive butler to accomplish, so I hurry up and get on with it.

A nasty shock awaits me before I can even begin, however: there, by the sideboard, stands my Young Master, gulping down brandy like it was lemonade, gulping it _neat_ from its cut glass crystal decanter. The servants are not the only ones suffering it would seem. Well, after all, he is the sacrificial lamb in all this.

Have everyone in the house lost their minds? As Satan is my witness: things can _not_ continue this way.

"My lord. Have you _no_ shame left whatever?"

"Where she's concerned? Tch." he snorts blearily and tosses back another slug, swallowing the wrong way and erupting in a fit of coughing and atomised brandy.

I am inclined to let him choke. He's brought this on himself, after all. Also, the utter despair he's wallowing in is doing simply wonderful things to the piquant flavour of his soul. However, I must cleave to my aesthetics: I do owe him a certain amount of protection, so...

"Tell me, my lord, what would be your opinion be of someone willing to ruin lives, make innumerable people unemployed, sick at heart, and despairing of life simply because he lacks the courage to speak up and tell the truth?"

His head bumbles up and down with his silent, smirking snickers. "Hell's bells demon, I'd greet 'im like a long los' brother and in invite him t' sit down and have a li'l drinkie with me...pro'lly needs one at least as badly as I do."

You know, I never thought I would say this, but my lord the earl, the bravest little soul I have ever been privileged to join with contractually, is naught but a big girl's blouse when it comes to standing up to this wretched, overpowered fiancée of his.

Gah! The entire situation makes my arse throb! Please forgive my language.

"My lord, I believe I would be doing you a kindness in taking your soul right now, so please come here to me." I hold out to him a commanding hand and I am rewarded with the sound of the brandy decanter hitting the floor.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian shows his last two aces up his sleeve in trying to persuade his inebriated Little Master.

 

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

"My lord, I believe I would be doing you a kindness in taking your soul right now, so please come here." I hold out a hand to him rather commandingly. I am rewarded with the sound of the decanter hitting the floor.

"Wh-whassat?"

"You heard me. The kindest thing I could do for you, not to mention everyone else in this cursed household, is take your soul right now, so please take your hand off that sherry decanter and come over here to me. Now."

"Psht! Don't be a aba ba bass, Ass-chun," he slurs, clucking his tongue, then pulling a face. "Sorry, that came out ... tongue's fthick f'some schtrange reason."

Look at him: he can barely stand up, the silly creature...

"Looka ... looka wutchoo made me do," he mutters. "Schtupid demon," he is staring sadly at the spilt Napoleon puddling around his boots, listing gently from side to side, clinging to the sideboard for balance, staring at the carpet. Licking his lips thoughtfully. I can see his knees give a fraction. BaalBerith's balls, I do believe he is seriously contemplating getting down on his noble knees and sucking the alcohol straight out of the turkey rug—not that you couldn't safely eat-or in this case drink- off my floors, but I ask you: where has my proud and haughty master disappeared to?!

"Has that mere sprog of a girl frightened you to such an extent you would actually prefer becoming a fourteen year old _drunk_ to telling her what you truly think of living "happily ever after" with a... a squealing pink dervish?"

Apparently the answer is 'yes' because all he does is peer at me owlishly. He makes a few odd twitches and head movements that look as though he's about to comment on my question but nothing comes out.

"Do you realise in three years time you could be as wide as you are tall and completely unable to walk? I shall have to roll you everywhere like a barrel."

More wordless peering and blinking.

"Is it really easier for you to die of drinker's liver than simply tell the girl the truth?"

"Sh... shu'rrup, you. Aneewaay...'s'not like I could change anything iffeye _did_ tell her... iffeye co-ould ever get a word in edgeways. Th'hell do you think I'm drinkin' for?"

He makes a sort of 'pssh' noise at me, waves a dismissive hand in my direction, turns away quite unsteadily and, snatching the last decanter from the sideboard, weaves off more or less toward the grand staircase and, presumably, his bedroom.

I suppose every human has an 'Achilles' heel' of one kind or another. Something they love, hate or fear to such an unreasonable extent they can be made to do things otherwise quite uncharacteristic of them. There's little doubt in my mind where my master's particular weakness lies.

The same child I have seen face down rapists, Mafiosi, death gods both sane and barmy, demons, zombies, even the devil himself, the child I've long since accepted as my little master, morphs into wet newsprint before this girl. I simply cannot comprehend it.

Then again, when I consider the mother...

With no other convenient vent for my frustrations, I fling myself onto the mess on the dining table in a whirlwind of stacking, scraping and clearing, all the while deliberating over some effective plan of action for my master's problem. Quite soon I have all the detritus of the evening meal bundled into the dumbwaiter and bound for the pantry.

Now if only May-Rin isn't in such a drunken stupor by now she cannot unload it all and see to the cloth, the dishes and the leftovers it will be one less thing I need to worry over.

Afterwards I find my master in his bedroom, sitting on the floor on the far side of the bed, his back propped against the bed post, still drinking and sadly staring out the window at the impenetrable dark. Since calls to his logic, his pride and his sense of shame as well as threatening to eat him on the spot have all left him unmoved, I intend to now try a different tack.

I sit down beside him on the floor and pretend to join him in his binge, taking the bottle from him momentarily. At the least this will get the alcohol out of his hands part of the time and slow down his consumption. With a bit of luck I can perhaps make one last attempt at talking some sense into him before it is too late. I have several last ditch cards up my sleeve, one of which I try now:

"You know your servants have resigned, my lord," I tell him, tipping the decanter back and pretending to take a long deep pull at it.

"What?!"

"Bard, May-Rin, Finnian and even Tanaka have each approached me privately since yesterday and resigned their positions effective immediately."

" Even _Tanaka?!_ " he staggers to his feet, profoundly shocked. "But... what the hell for?"

Well that sobered him up in a hurry. I take this as a good sign.

"What do you imagine the reason to be, my Lord?"

"But... but why the hell didn't you try to stop them?"

" _Stop_ them!? My Lord, I wish to _join_ them."

"You—you wish to..." He blinks hard at me and then sits back down on the floor hard.

I am actually glad to see this: at least something matters to him. Nothing else seems to.

"Sebastian. Are you leaving me, then? Are all my servants leaving me?"

I scrub my fingers through my hair because I can't the grab the child and shake him as I am aching to, and I simply must do _something_. These fingers of mine are dying to tear at something. My hair will simply have to do.

"I persuaded them to give me one last opportunity to try and work something out with you. If not, then yes, perhaps you will soon be here alone."

His face drains of all colour. I let that sink in a moment before delivering the killing blow:

"But take heart, my Lord. You won't be alone for long. Very soon now, you will have your darling fiancée Elizabeth at your side, _every single minute of every day from now on for the rest of your very long life._ And perhaps your aunt Frances will move in with her when she sees you are alone, to save you from your native disorderliness and keep you safe."

"Safe?! "Yes." "Keep me safe from what?!"

"Ah hah hah hah, how quickly my Lord forgets. Do not imagine for one moment the previous attacks perpetrated on this manor and your person won't start back up once word gets out your formerly formidable and deadly servants have all left you en masse. Perhaps you will have reason to be grateful the Midfords are all so proficient with the sword. You may wish to invite the entire family to move in with you, even Miss Elizabeth's brother."

"Oh no, not him _too.._." The child groans and curls up on the floor cradling his head in his hands."Give me back the damned sherry, Sebastian."

"No."

"Now!" he demands. "It's an order!"

"My Lord, listen to me—"

"You can't leave me Sebastian, that's an order as well! We had a deal!"

"I most certainly _can_ render this contract void if I wish to, Ciel, and I am seriously considering it, because frankly, not even _your_ soul is worth this!"

"Wanker," he mutters.

"My Lord look at me, I am wearing a pink bonnet! That girlchild will have me in a corset and a frilly knickers by the end of the week at this rate! For a girl who grew up with a father and an older brother, do you not agree she has a severely disordered concept of gender differences!? I could not bear watching what will happen to you should you permit this girl to become a permanent part of this household."

"Dunno what you're on about."

I shake the decanter of sherry in his face. "This. _This_ is what I'm 'on about': It's already starting to happen to you and I can tell you, Ciel Phantomhive, I want nothing more than to walk out that door and leave you to it, since it's what you've chosen. I am not obligated to stay and watch you wreck all my hard work and destroy yourself. Nor destroy her either, for that matter, because you cannot think for one moment that limply going along with her and her family's wishes and marrying the girl is going to lead to anyone's genuine happiness. Not even Miss Elizabeth is so delusional as to continue lying to herself about your feelings for her when she arrives on the other side of her vows and realises your _disdain_ for her _has not changed one whit._ And while it's true your soul will be improved by the sheer anguish you will endure when she turns into her mother and starts tormenting you day and night for duping her, I assure you I would have no appetite for it, nor for witnessing _any_ of what will come after."

I took another mimed swig and retained the bottle, turning to fix him with my steeliest glare so he is in no way allowed to think I am anything but deadly serious- because in fact, I am.

"So, my lord, I am here _one last time_ , to beg you. _Beg you,_ Ciel. If you cannot bring yourself to do something about all this, then give me the order: permit me the freedom to act in your behalf to stop this marriage so it is no longer looming over us all like some matrimonial sword of Damocles, poised to ruin you and everything you hold dear."

He is silent for a long time. So long I am on the verge of giving up and getting up to leave—and I mean truly leave. I was only sitting there deciding where to go first once I'd walked through the boy's door when I heard the tiniest of small voices say softly "You can't kill her, Sebastian. I forbid it."

"My Lord," I tell him tiredly, "as much as I would enjoy killing her, _as much as we all would,"_ I say, thinking of Bard and the other servants, "I am very aware of your feelings regarding Miss Elizabeth. I give you my word: I was not and will not ever entertain any ideas involving her death."

More's the pity, I thought, though some may well be moved to attempt homicide when I've finished with them. Or suicide.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that. I seemed to have been typing with my forehead there for a little without being aware of it. I believe it's corrected now. Drop me a note if anything's amiss.
> 
> For those who have read this before over on ffnet, I updated it a bit so there might be a few new lines for you to (hopefully) enjoy.
> 
> Behold: the dinner party from Hell!

By Friday next, Phantomhive manor is prepared to perfection.

Not to my standards, mind you, which most would say are already over the top. No no, to the ridiculously stringent, exacting standards of that fierce martinet, the Lady Francis Midford.

It would be no exaggeration to say the servants and I have slaved for this. It is particularly hard on May Rin, Finnian and Bard, since, normally, they accomplish nothing more than eating up my young lord's provender, taking up space, blundering about randomly destroying whatever I have managed to accomplish, and providing comic relief--mostly the latter. But this situation is different and they know it. I often have good reason to belittle their collective intelligence but even they have the wit to realise their jobs, as well as the young master's future happiness—which oddly enough, seems to distress them even more than the prospect of losing their ridiculously comfortable positions here—are hanging in the balance. Hence they are working with a will rarely seen under this roof.

May Rin has taken off her ridiculous glasses. Finny is acting as her eyes where needed. She is watching that Finny's strength is carefully controlled. Bard, for once, has laid down his idiotic flamethrower and explosives, left the kitchen to me and has picked up a bucket, brush and cleaning rags to go do something useful for a change, and I have thrown off the restriction regarding magic which my lord imposed upon me after I conjured up a new manor house and a sumptuous supper for him on our first night together.

I want to make certain, you see, that when the Lady Francis finds fault with us, it will be for the right reasons.

Very early before dawn, a carriage is sent round for Lau and a judicious selection of his more discreet 'girls'—and some of his best...product, shall we say. Ostensibly the purpose behind this involving of the shady Chinese and his women is to help celebrate my young lord's upcoming nuptials—in your time you will call it a 'bachelor' or 'stag party' but I'm sure you realise there is more behind my machinations than a simple ' you're getting married you poor sod' party.

Things have been carefully staged: the front door has been left unbolted and ajar. A selection of empty bottles from my young lord's newest hobby—he'd been stashing them beneath his bed inside the box concealing his collection of erotic picture books and penny-dreadfuls—and some old under things of Maylene's we were about to tear into bandages were strewn about on the circular drive in front of the front door.

We are awaiting the Midford's arrival. At Lady Midford's insistence they normally arrive quite a bit earlier than expected, So Lau and the servants have been carefully collected and arranged in the smoking room off the dining room and coached as to what they should be doing since before breakfast.

Of course I have a few tricks of my own planned as well, and the servants have not been let in on everything. Lau was given quite a lot of money and some secret instructions regarding smoking up the room and bringing some choice edibles with him spiked with various intoxicants for his girls and the servants to enjoy.

And I am beginning to really enjoy myself; it's been a long while since I've hosted an orgy.

 

***

 

"What is the meaning of this!" rings out in the foyer at half eleven-proof we were not wrong to begin our plans at the crack of dawn.

At the sound of her voice I exit the smoking room at top speed to fetch my lord. He'd been deliberately allowed to remain abed with a generous selection of alcohol at his elbow. Staging his participation in an orgy is one thing, allowing him to actually participate in one at his age, quite another. Protecting him IS a large part of my contract, after all.

As I pick him up I am pleased to see he has been preparing for his part with enthusiasm, helping himself to yet another bottle of brandy and falling back to sleep while still in his nightshirt and –oh dear—not much else, I'm afraid.

Excellent.

Back down, straight through the walls to save time, and into the choking atmosphere of the smoking room, just as our visitors cross the dining room and open the door on us. I just had time enough to pose my young lord and make a few last-minute adjustments to the tableau as Miss Elizabeth bursts into the room howling "FOUND THEM MOTHER!" only to be stunned for once, to blessed silence.

It will not last, of course. You would think after seeing so many adults piled atop one another, barely clothed and lounging about in a room thick with opium smoke, she'd run screaming from the premises, but no. There's no end to this girl's ability to deceive herself. Of all things to latch onto she decides to comment on the atmosphere.

"What's that funny smell?" she asks, wrinkling up her nose and pointedly staring into my eyes and nowhere else. She is particularly careful not to look at Ciel, who is passed out just behind me on an overstuffed chair in just his haphazardly buttoned nightshirt, legs splayed out in a truly delicious manner, one knee hooked over the arm. Only the brandy bottle between his legs preserving what little is left of his decorum.

The Lady Francis, marching up behind her daughter, is of course, made of sterner stuff. "Elizabeth," she bites off, "what have I repeatedly told you about throwing yourself about like this? A lady does not fling herself through closed doors without knocking, especially in other peoples' houses! Now march upstairs this minute and unpack. Your brother has already taken your trunk up to your usual room since no servants were available to do it. Unpack and stay there until I tell you otherwise."

"But Mother, what is wrong with my darling Ciel? He looks ill and I—"

"Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford!"

The girl freezes and blanches, her eyes big as cricket balls. Well! At least there is someone on this pathetic plane to whom this stubborn girl actually listens. "Yes, mother," she says meekly and then scuttles off.

"Now. Exactly what manner of debauchery is this?!" the Marchioness says in a dangerously soft, controlled voice.

"The very best, my lady," I answer her from my spot on the floor, "for only the very best of everything will do for my lord the earl of Phantomhive." I say, rolling off a startled and beet red May Rin, who has only just this moment (thanks to the incredibly thick opium smoke) realised she and I were lying together, both quite naked, on the floor, as were most of the other people in the room. That is to say we are all in various advanced stages of undress, Lau included. He has on a kimono, full stop. It is only draped over his shoulders however, so it hardly counts as clothing. No obi or sash, just 100% genuine, unadulterated Lau as far as the eye dare see. Furthermore, he is making no effort to keep the garment closed in front, and that is all he is has on besides an opium pipe and an absurdly proud smile.

Well, I did tell him 'come as you are'.

Yes yes, an evil trick. Of course an evil trick! Exactly what did you people expect from a demon? Church hymns and a prayer circle?

May Rin shrieks and wriggles away from me, stopping just long enough to stare wistfully at the masculine glories she is abandoning in her scramble to reclaim propriety (I predict she will never forgive herself.) I am anything but shy by nature; I let her look. She takes it hard, poor girl. Ah, but she does want me in the worst way-which, coincidentally, is precisely the way I had been planning on taking her if I'd had time and could manage to get away with it. Sadly however, Lady Francis came early and I, not at all.

There is simply no justice in this world.

At any rate, May Rin makes good her escape, stumbling over to the grand piano, ripping away the protective tapestry draped over it, upsetting a candelabrum, a flower vase full of fresh white roses and a vast collection of photographs and bric-a-brac, and in the process showering her naked flesh with broken crystal, water, thorny cut flowers and shattered picture frames. Not that she cares particularly. She is clearly intent on only one goal and that is getting her voluptuous body back under wraps and then trying to edge her way out of the room as discreetly as possible while simultaneously trying to capture the blood that is slowly dripping down her upper lip before it stains the priceless, pastel Aubusson carpet.

Once under the inhibition-banishing influence of the opium smoke and Lau's spiked 'breakfast treats', Bard and Finnian are an unforeseen, serendipitous bonus: they are currently rutting loudly and uninhibitedly on the leather chesterfield in the corner. Thank Asmodeus it is dark leather! Otherwise I can't think how I should ever have cleaned it up. They are completely oblivious to their surroundings let alone their audience. And noisy! I could not have asked for better if I'd handed them a script. 

I suppose I really should visit the servant's quarters more often. Look at what I have been missing!

Personally, I have yet to move, other than to casually prop my head up with the heel of one hand, the better to observe the Marchioness' reactions to it all. Also, I want to give her ample time to appreciate the brand new tattoo I have just that morning conjured up across my bum, especially for her viewing pleasure. "Honey Hole" it says. One word for each cheek.

Well, she saw it but hadn't taken it as big as I'd hoped, so I roll up onto my hip to give her a look at the other side. She pinks up a bit at that, but still does not lose sight of her goal. 

Honestly. What a woman! I can clearly see which side of the family Ciel gets it from.

"You there, butler. I want this nonsense cleared up, the room aired out,THAT (she points to Lau) removed, and YOU (pointing to me) back in your uniform by the time I come back down these stairs. Do I make myself clear?"

Lau saunters up to her, his robe flapping around his long white legs.

"Now now, my Lady," he croons soothingly "this will not do. We have only just got started here! You are the visitor, the visitor who has decided to show up earlier than announced which is really quite rude, would you not agree?

"In view of that, shouldn't it be you who falls in with our ways? So, my dear, why not relax, have yourself a pipe and join us, eh? I have a spare." He smiles broadly after blowing a huge puff of the stuff right into her face, and then produces an extra pipe from I shudder to think where and attempts to pop it into her mouth. She, however, is 'not buying'.

"I'll just bet that fiery personality of yours would translate beautifully into fiery passion if only you'd let it, hm?" and then he dares to run a fingertip along the Lady's jaw, tipping her chin up and smiling at her as fetchingly as he knows how. For once Lau's total ignorance plays in his favour: if he knew what sort of fierce creature he was fingering, he'd never have risked that digit for fear of having it bitten clean off.

Good old Lau. A pain in the arse generally, but at times like this, he's a true brick. Zero chance of any of this behaviour of his actually working, but at least he's tried. And who knows, as she stands there in the doorway inhaling the fumes, perhaps something might have possibly changed within her. Certainly she is uncharacteristically silent for a few moments, studying that inscrutable face before her. Unfortunately my master chooses this precise moment to vomit most spectacularly all over himself and the chair he is slumped in.

If there had been a vomiting award for distance or trajectory he would surely have taken home the prize. As it is, all he does is manage to bring his aunt back to her senses.

"Take your hand off me sir. I neither know you nor care to. Slither back to whatever subterranean realm you crawled out from and never darken my family's door again!" The woman thunders impressively. Lau casts an eye my way for a hint and I signal he ought to do as she says. 

"And you, you ludicrous excuse for a butler: take that bottle away from my nephew immediately and get his clothes back on him. And back on you as well, you utterly indecent creature! NOW!" The woman takes a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabs at her forehead, upper lip and neck with it, then uses it as a makeshift fan. "Thank God Alexis and Edward remained in the foyer as I asked. Utterly disgraceful!"

Perhaps her mouth is saying 'disgraceful', but Lady Francis' lingering eyes and moistening features are telling me another story all together. I begin to wonder just what this visit might hold for us all.

Behind me Finny and Bard manage to fall with a thump! clean off the Chesterfield. The Marchioness' entrance hasn't even slowed them down. Lady Francis barely spares them a withering glance before turning on her heel and exiting the room. 

My my. Are we going to have to bugger sheep on the dining room table during the main course in order to put this woman off? 

 

***

 

Supper is a truly dismal affair, even without my lord's epic hangover. With it, he manages to make of all our lives just that much more magical. Of course I too was doing my best to add to the priceless atmosphere of joie de vivre, creating more delightsome chaos by ordering Maylene and Finnian to help serve in the dining room, with predictable results.

Each time the maid lays eyes on either Lady Francis or myself she changes colours like a giant squid, turning either white or red, or even both in rapid succession, and then drops what she is carrying, or for variety, tosses it into the air. She does the latter no less than three times with truly spectacular results.

I attempt to give her direction on her abysmal serving technique but I might as well be talking to a post with glasses. But really it is fine. Nearly every time she reacts badly she manages to slop something scalding over either Lady Francis or Ciel, and once she manages to get Edward in the eye with a flying pickled gherkin which sends him howling out of the room screaming he's been blinded. It is difficult not to cackle with glee.

Finnian keeps trying to engage everyone in conversation and cannot understand why everyone is treating him like a turd in the butter dish. I did teach them 'servants are not to speak, unless directly spoken to first', didn't I? Well of course I did. 

But Finnian does not truly enter into his own until the soup course, when he leans over the tureen a bit too far and a freshly hatched bird he's been trying to hand raise tumbles out of his pocket and into the Vichyssoise. He might have succeeded in only turning Edward green since he was the sole witness up to that point, but unfortunately Finnian has no concept of subterfuge, or 'inside voice,' especially when he gets excited. He announces at the top of his lungs that 'everything's okay,' because it's just cold soup and his' 'May-May' will just be wet and a bit startled' and he plonks his grubby gardener's paw right into the tureen and starts trying to fish out the bird. 

So of course he has everyone's helpless attention when he suddenly stops, pales and says "Mr. Sebastian. I -I forgot about my strength again." 

My young lord, knowing exactly what this meant, stuffs his serviette into his mouth and leaps from the table, upsetting his chair in his rush to find a private corner in which to empty his stomach. The rest, aware at least that they want no soup course, whatever has just happened to the servant splashing about in it, push themselves back from the table and avert their eyes. I steer the now wailing Finnian, still elbow deep in the tainted vichyssoise, out of the room and quickly bring up the next course -which I assure them all I alone have prepared! 

Needless to say by the end of the meal tensions are such I am expecting the spontaneous combustions to begin at any moment. And when the Marquis and his wife both find broken glass in their tiramisu, supper is officially given up on and everyone stalks off to their respective bedrooms in filthy moods.

This early abdication of the ground floor suits me because I have a great deal to do to get ready for the Samhain masque we will be hosting Saturday night.


End file.
